Page 57 of The Worst Kind of Promise
21
MY BED, MY RULES
KIT
Dinner was excruciating, and not because Fulton’s story of how he found out peanuts grew in the ground was twenty minutes too long. More due to the fact that I was fighting a boner the entire time Faye was eye-fucking me from across the table. Okay, maybe noteye-fuckingme. Maybe just looking at me, but that’s plenty enough to get me hard.
Things are finally good between us. Better than good. They’re amazing, and I think I always knew that I was never going to be able to stay away from her. I’ve even noticed that she’s retired her amethyst necklace.
I wish I’d had more time to talk to her at lunch today. I still feel so shitty for what I did to her.
So, instead of working through my feelings like a sane person, I went on a thirty-minute run at night, in the dark, with nothing but my depression playlist on full blast in my ears. Like I told Faye, I’m going to work to earn back her trust. I’ll do whatever I have to. And if I’ve learned anything from romantic comedies, I have to really show her I’m putting in the effort.
Maybe a hot air balloon ride? Or a discreet picnic in the park? I’d fill her—my—room up with roses, but that would definitely be a stupid move if one of the guys were to walk in. I don’t want to hide this. I don’t want to hideher. I want the whole world to know she’s mine. Hiding Faye Hollings is like trying to black out the sun. She’s this burning ball of brightness that lights up every single room she walks into. To hide her away would be a disservice.
But I’m going to have to suck it up because she’s right. The alternative is destroying the friendship Hayes and I have. And I’m not ready to lose either of them.
The guys are usually in their rooms by eleven, and I know for a fact that Hayes is spending the night at Aeris’, so if I’m sneaky enough, I’ll just dip in to see Faye for a bit. Nothing suspicious going on there, right? I mean, she is staying inmyroom. And I’ll need to grab a fresh pair of clothes because, despite it being night, it’s still seventy degrees outside.
As I trudge up the stairs, I can hear Gage and Fulton cackling about something from down the hall, but aside from that, the house is eerily quiet. Bristol must’ve called it a night, and Casen’s probably doing a deep-clean of his bedroom, or he and Josie are fucking. Just, like, silently.
Shit. Now I’m thinking about sex. Granted, it is a thing I think about a lot, but I wouldn’t mind thinking about something like politics.
I pause in front of my door, fist raised to knock, and that’s when I hear a buzzing noise from behind the partition. It sounds like an electric razor. Is Faye shaving her legs right now?
I knock once. Nothing. I knock again. Still nothing, but that hum is persistent as it leaks through the flimsy wood separating us. If she is shaving, she’s probably doing it in the bathroom. I’ll just wait for her to finish up.
Look, I’ve seen a lot of things in my life. As a hockey player, I’ve seen everything—bottom teeth going all the way through someone’s lower lip, a locker room full of flaccid penises, a couple practically fucking in the front row at one of our games. But I never,everexpected to see what greets me behind the door.
There, on my bed, is Faye in one of her tiny nightshirts, pleasuring herself with a goddamn vibrator. Her feet are planted on the bed, her knees bent, giving me a direct view of the small bullet lodged in her glistening cunt.
I…I think I just went brain dead.
Her head is thrown back against the pillow, the line of her throat shiny with sweat, her pert nipples poking through the front of her shirt. The sweetest moan flows out of those carnation-pink lips, ones that I wish were wrapped around the base of my erection.
I know I should say something. I know I should look away. But I can’t do either of those things. I’m so incredibly turned on right now that I can’t generate any thoughts. My dick hardens further behind my running shorts, jutting out in front of me, and I feel warmth spool low in my stomach. My mouth puckers from sudden dryness, so much so that when I go to speak, the words grate against my esophagus.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I exclaim a lot less calmly than I imagined doing so in my head.
Faye’s eyes snap open, and the moment she realizes she’s been caught, she screams and flings her vibrator to the ground. Her legs slam shut fast. I usually have the opposite effect on women.
“What the fuck areyoudoing?” she shoots back, scrambling to hide her legs underneath the comforter.
I was watching you. Obviously.
Reining in my overeager tongue, I try to ignore the fact that Faye’s bare pussy is currently touching my sheets. I know it’s been a week since we had sex, but every day has been complete torture. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the way I stuffed her full of my fingers and cock, the punishing grip her cunt had on me when she came, the way I painted her face in cum—the fucking fact that shewantedme to.
“I was coming to get a change of clothes.” I gesture to the gross ring of sweat around my neckline.
She smacks her lips together, pulling the covers up to her chin, like I haven’t already seen everything before. “Okay, yeah. That makes sense.”
Her vibrator is still buzzing against the carpet, so I reach down to turn it off, biting back a groan of wanton desire when my fingers make contact with the sheen of natural lubricant coating the bullet. And it takes my whole willpower not to smell my fingers.
Her stare never leaves me, never softens, narrowed in perusal and framed by long lashes that flare at the ends. There’s an intensity in her eyes that tantalizes me—lighter fluid to the match that I’ve unwisely lit myself—and I can’t tell if it’s an aftereffect of her sex high or if it’s because of me.
“Now you get to answer my question.” To distract myself, I divest myself of my shirt, forcing my feet over to the dresser. Now that I’m no longer facing her, relief sprouts in my chest, but it’s not enough to stave the shiver running down my spine.
“I was just…relieving some tension,” she breathes.
